


Taste Your Sweet Profanity

by dls



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Eating, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dls/pseuds/dls
Summary: "Why do you waste your coins on these?" Geralt's nose wrinkles as he glances at the bottles of perfume.Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Because I like to smell nice.""You already do."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 59
Kudos: 1423





	Taste Your Sweet Profanity

**Author's Note:**

> I've blushed so much writing and tagging this that I'm pretty sure my face is going to be permanently red. 
> 
> Beta-ed by [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal/pseuds/Arboreal).
> 
> References/Quotes:   
>  Title from "BoRdErSz" by Zayn Malik.   
> 

Jaskier loves fragrances, the floral notes of expensive perfumes and herbal richness of scented oil. Small luxuries, he calls them, as he dabs drops of jasmine on his pulse points or soaks in bath water smelling of rosemary.

Tonight, it's lavender that lingers over Jaskier's skin and Geralt almost tells him to bathe again when he licks a strip up Jaskier's trembling thigh and tastes flowers instead of his lover.

Wisely, he doesn’t. Having learned the lesson long ago when they first fell into bed together. Which is where they are, without a piece of armor or a stitch of clothing, Jaskier straddling over Geralt’s face and Geralt’s groin positioned underneath Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier is nibbling down the hard line of Geralt’s shaft then laves his way up, the backs of his knees growing damp where Geralt is gripping onto them, a hint of salt in the air.

It’s not enough.

Geralt takes Jaskier in, as far as he can and more each time. He curls his tongue and flicks at the slit when the drip becomes a steady stream, humming with satisfaction that has Jaskier gasping and pulling off of Geralt’s cock with a filthy pop.

“Geralt...” He mewls, hips jerking and legs tensing from _too much_ , _too fast_ , _too good_.

It's heady, how well Geralt knows Jaskier's body, how well Jaskier _lets_ Geralt know his body.

Jaskier tries to reciprocate, drawing Geralt into the wet heat of his mouth but his efforts are interrupted by his own moans, musical notes of a different sort falling from his lips.

"...I'm close." He keens, a warning and a plea.

Geralt takes it as an encouragement and swallows Jaskier down to the hilt with a sharp inhale and a dip of his chin. Witchers can go thrice as long as a human without air, a mutation he has a newfound appreciation for. These days, he has newfound appreciation for many things. He hums the beginning of the bard's most famed song though he doubts Jaskier notices with how his toes curl against the sheets and his fingers dig into the flesh of Geralt's thighs.

Anchor points as Jaskier shakes and comes apart, pouring himself down Geralt's throat with a shout that's muffled against Geralt's balls, heavy with the weight of delayed gratification. He doesn't mind waiting, though, not when the reward for patience are Jaskier's high-pitched whimpers. Little _ah-ah-ahs_ as Geralt nuzzles at his spent cock.

The musky-sweet taste of Jaskier on his tongue fades too soon for Geralt's liking, leaves him wanting more. He presses in, closer than before, and noses between Jaskier's cheeks.

Jaskier twitches at the contact, the tight ring of muscles at the center clenching then relaxing in invitation. Like those infuriatingly effective winks Jaskier throws his way as he performs in front of a crowd. 

With a growl, Geralt lifts Jaskier's hips and manhandles his lover forward, tilted slightly, so he can lap at Jaskier's hole with the flat of his tongue. Hot and hungry for another taste. He gets it when Jaskier arches his back, offering himself up to Geralt's so _beautifully_ , so _eagerly_ , so _trustingly_. 

"Good." The praise is whispered into the sweat-slicked and saliva-drenched skin but Gerlat knows Jaskier heard it - _felt it_ \- with how a shudder ripples up his spine, down the ladders of his ribs, and around the obscene stretch of his lips, wrapped around Geralt's cock once more. Sloppy and without an ounce of finesse, drool sliding and pooling at the bottom of Geralt's length. 

_Perfect._

Geralt licks into him, groaning at the rich burst of flavor, and grazes the rim with his canines in between every thrust of his tongue. Feasting and savoring like a starved man, _gluttonous_. It's downright sinful the way Jaskier tastes, earthy and ripe like the plump berries they find in the wild, feeding them to each other underneath a blanket of stars.

"Fuck, oh gods. Geralt. Love you. Yes, yes, right there. More, please. Geralt, please. So good, so good to me. My Witcher. Mine, mine, mine..." Jaskier murmurs his claim as he suckles messily at the base of Geralt's cock, his own plumping up nicely, rubbing against Geralt's chest.

"Mine." Geralt echoes, just as possessive if not more so, and leans back to bite down on the swell of Jaskier's ass; it's unexpectedly lush and in sharp contrast to Jaskier's trim waist, narrow shoulders, and lean wrists. He works the mouthful over with varying pressure of his teeth until he knows there will be a bruise - _his mark -_ blooming there for days, and plunges two fingers into the slick heat of him, scissoring them in preparation and promise of what's to come. 

Jaskier's breath hitches, his body taut and glistening with sweat, no longer smelling like lavender but of desire, of the _both of them_. "Yours, love being yours, my wolf. Yours-" His voices cuts off with a sob, his hole fluttering around the third finger Geralt has added. He's wiggling, seeking more of Geralt's fingers and directing them toward the sensitive spot inside of him.

The one Geralt is purposefully avoiding for the sake of hearing his bard's pretty song, a melody of moans and gasps and whines, only for his ears. 

"Please, please, please. Geralt, I need you- Need you to fuck me. Fuck me, please. Please. Want you, want you to fill me- Fill me up, make me drip with you-" 

The image of Jaskier wet with his seed, smelling of Geralt in the most private part of him, sends a hot spike of need through him, igniting the simmering desire into a roaring flame. He has to be inside Jaskier. _Now_. 

"No, no, please don't stop." Jaskier whines when Geralt removes his fingers but changes his tune quickly once he realizes what Geralt intends to do, happily rearranging himself until they are facing one another with Geralt's cock nudging at his entrance. "Oh, yes, yes please, my Witcher. Fuck me, _mate me_."

Geralt snaps his hips forward with a feral groan, buries himself deep then pulls out nearly all the way, watching the way Jaskier squirms, and drives back in as smoothly. He alters his angle slightly with every thrust, until he finds the one that makes Jaskier forget his words and cry out, makes him wrap his legs around Geralt's waist and dig his heels into Geralt's lower back, makes him tug at his own hair as he throws his head back, the pale column of his throat begging to be marked. 

And Geralt does exactly that. He nips down the long line of tender flesh and traces Jaskier's thudding pulse with the tip of his tongue then back up to cover the other side, all the while grinding against that perfect spot. Until Jaskier wails and comes, untouched, in hot, thick spurts all over his own stomach. 

"Fuck." Geralt grits out against the curve of Jaskier's shoulder, rutting into _his mate_ with increasingly frantic movements. He pumps his hips, once, twice, before pulling out to add his release to Jaskier's, ropes of white decorating the bard's torso with a drop landing on Jaskier's bottom lip.

He clears it away with a tempting flash of pink tongue and a sated grin, blue eyes hooded and long limbs loose. "You, my darling wolf, taste scrumptious."

Gerald hums, rests his weight on one elbow and swirls his fingers through the sticky mess.

Beneath him, Jaskier purrs when Geralt feeds him the mixture of their seeds. "Mmm, tastes even better together."

"Better together." Geralt repeats the words back, more solemn than their current state warrants. A declaration and a vow.

_Always._

**Author's Note:**

> [dls-ao3.tumblr.com](https://dls-ao3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
